<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Possibilities, Like an Open Road by goldexemption</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869822">Possibilities, Like an Open Road</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldexemption/pseuds/goldexemption'>goldexemption</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bullying, Cupboard, Forests, Gen, Light Angst, Name-Calling, One-Shot, Pre-Canon, Running Away, Teasing, and resilient, no beta we die like men, spoiler: Harry runs away, young harry is smart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:41:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldexemption/pseuds/goldexemption</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry supposed no one would miss him; he didn't have any friends, and his so-called <em>family </em>hated him. They would probably throw a party now that he was gone. </p><p><em>So it's decided then</em>, Harry thought.<em> I'll run away.</em></p><p> </p><p>(aka a self-indulgent one-shot where Harry is sick of the Dursleys and decides to - you guessed it - run away.) COMPLETE.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dursley Family &amp; Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Possibilities, Like an Open Road</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks for clicking on this work. I hope you enjoy, and if you didn't please tell me where I went wrong. Thanks!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Seize the day!” -Roman Poet Horace, 23 B.C. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The day that Harry’s life changed it was raining. Droplets of water that looked like tears splashed against the thick window, and Harry breathed out heavily, watching condensation gathering so the glass became a misty white. Drawing a smiley face on it with his hand, although he felt anything but, Harry pondered his day insofar.</p><p>It wasn’t a bad one, all things considered; Dudley and his gang mostly left him alone in favour of picking on some poor kid named Martin, and he had even gotten a fairy cake from Ms. Hurbert when she learnt that he was the only person in the class to get 100% on his math test!<br/>
<br/>
Of course, it was gone by lunchtime. Dudley had stolen it right when Harry was about to take an icing-filled bite out of it, then, with his mouth full of coloured sweetness, said mockingly, “Does the freak want his cake back?” (Harry’s hand was balled into fists underneath his school desk, white rimming the edge of his fingernails, but he refused to show any sort of reaction).</p><p>Some new students were staring at them both, no doubt flabbergasted Harry would allow someone to treat him like that, but they would learn. Everyone on Privet Drive knew that Harry was evil and Dudley the sweet son who had to put up with his cousin’s bullying. Eventually Dudley would get bored and leave, although Harry hoped it was sooner rather than later.</p><p>Dudley began to goad him, but stopped when Ms. Hurbert came back, screwing his face up in the picture perfect expression for childhood innocence. “Back to your seat, Dudley,” she commanded, rapping her knuckles on a student’s wooden desk. Dudley scrunched his face up for real this time, annoyed that that hadn’t worked, but grumpily walked to his seat, at the very back of the class.<br/>
<br/>
Ms. Hurbert cleared her throat, bringing all the attention back on her, and she started the lesson. Today they were learning about negative numbers. Harry knew all about them already, having read ahead in one of his textbooks one bored night in his cupboard, and so could answer the question Ms. Hurbert asked him. “Negative four,” he said, ignoring the snickers from Dudley’s side of the room.<br/>
<br/>
“Very good,” Ms. Hurbert said warmly, with a smile. “Dudley, what’s negative five plus two?” she asked, staring sternly at him.<br/>
<br/>
Dudley had stopped talking to Piers Polkiss when he heard his name being called, but having not paid attention while Ms. Hurbert was explaining, didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know, miss,” he called, before saying something to Malcolm that made him cover his laugh. Dudley didn’t seem particularly embarrassed, though: in fact he looked almost proud of his lack of knowledge.<br/>
<br/>
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered the answer under his breath, along with Ms. Hurbert. “It’s negative three, Dudley. I expect you to pay more attention, as we just covered this topic today. Come and see me after class,” she scolded, and then went back to teaching.<br/>
<br/>
Harry went back to doodling on his notebook--he was drawing either snakes or hills--he couldn’t decide which. Squinting his eyes and tilting his head back, Harry was about to draw several more on the corner of his page, when Anderson, who was walking down the aisle of desks, tossed him a book. “Thanks,” Harry said, but Anderson didn’t respond, only gave him a disdainful look, then turned away.</p><p>Harry sighed, resolving to put it out of his mind, so he turned the book around to read the blurb. It looked interesting, at least, it was about a girl running away from her home to go and live in the forest because her family didn’t love her. Harry could sympathize with that.<br/>
<br/>
He looked up to make sure Miss Hurbert wasn’t looking--she wasn’t, focusing on Jemma’s excuses of why she hadn’t done her homework--then opened the book and began to read.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>T</strong>his story starts in an attic, dusty and with cobwebs hanging from the corner. And in this attic was a girl, who sat on her bed. Her name was Violet…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry frowned — her situation seemed to be almost the same as his. The only difference was that she had actually done something, instead of sitting there and dealing with everything until she was eighteen, and could legally go away.<br/>
<br/>
Harry closed the book thoughtfully, when a thought that had been lurking in the back of his mind since popped up. <em>Then what if I ran away?</em><br/>
<br/>
Harry bit his lip nervously, shaking his head as if to shake away that forbidden thought, but it didn’t work. It was still there in his head, still oozing into his mind, sticking to it like glue does to paper. Harry supposed that no one would really miss him--he didn’t have any friends, Dudley had chased them away and now it was as if he was infected. The Dursleys hated him. They would probably throw a party or something now that the freak was gone.<br/>
<br/>
There wasn’t any reason for him to stay, but could he really run away from the only home he had ever known, even if it was more of a hell than a safe place?<br/>
<br/>
Harry thought about it for the rest of the school day--at lunch and science, geography and break-time, day-dreaming about what it would be like all alone, with nothing, no one to worry about except himself.<br/>
<br/>
At the very end of the day, before going back to the house that he resided in, Harry made up a decision: he would run away. </p>
<hr/><p>Harry’s body was aching, and rightfully so--he had just spent about two hours tending to the garden outside, in pouring rain. Sometimes he loved rain; watching it drum down on the roof of school was unbelievably calming, but other times it was just a nuisance.<br/>
<br/>
Harry had gotten several scrapes and bruises from gardening today, once from banging the metal rake against his knee. They all hurt quite badly, and the eight-year-old boy grimaced as he scraped one of the bruises against his cupboard door. He needed a plaster, but the Dursleys only kept them in the kitchen, and he wasn’t supposed to go there at night. Not unless he really needed to go.<br/>
<br/>
Harry rummaged in his school bag for a metallic hair-pin he kept for special occasions-- mostly picking the lock to his cupboard. When he found it, he let out a sigh of relief, then in one fluid movement, stuck the pin in the lock. Jiggling it around, Harry stuck his tongue out and concentrated, then, with a satisfying click, the cupboard door swung open.<br/>
<br/>
He grinned, and with surprising softness for an eight-year-old, crept out into the darkened hallway. The only light came from a beam that shot through the dark and illuminated his feet. Harry licked his lips nervously when he realised that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were still awake--he hoped they hadn’t heard anything.<br/>
<br/>
Creeping closer to the crack underneath the living room door, Harry put his ear right up to it and tried to hear what his uncle and aunt were saying.<br/>
<br/>
“Poor little Duddykins… he must be so upset about his test score…” That was Aunt Petunia--she thought that her bullying whale of a son could do no wrong. Harry snorted, then rolled his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
A fist slammed down on what sounded like the kitchen countertop, and Harry flinched before he could stop himself. Too many times before, that sound was followed by a smack or a punch that left his head spinning.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s all that teacher’s fault, let me tell you! I knew she was no good from the start--she doesn’t know who’s son she’s picking on!”<br/>
<br/>
Harry bit his lip. That must be Uncle Vernon. He was too full of himself, and was almost always a shade of puce. Harry was about to go back to his cupboard -- he could get the plasters tomorrow whilst cooking breakfast. As he was about to leave, Harry heard something that made him double back and listen ever the more attentively.<br/>
<br/>
It was Aunt Petunia, this time. She sighed. “Maybe we should take Dudders somewhere special tomorrow--we could go to Ashwood forest for a picnic. You know, the place that Marge loves.”<br/>
<br/>
Uncle Vernon stayed quiet for a second or two, a rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the wooden table indicating that he was thinking. “Alright, Pet,” he started, before his voice deepened and grew more husky. “Before that, though, would you like to maybe… come upstairs for a bit?”<br/>
<br/>
Harry heard a high-pitched giggle, then a thud of someone being pushed back onto the kitchen counter, and finally a slurping sound that reminded him of a pig eating dinner from the trough. He grimaced, wanting to erase the last few seconds from his mind, then quickly slipped out of the hallway and back into his cupboard before he could hear anything other incriminating sounds. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was late, but Harry was still wide-awake inside his cupboard, thinking about his Plan for tomorrow. He idly picked at a hole in this threadbare mattress, and continued to stare at the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
Harry knew he would need to convince the Dursleys to let him come with them on the picnic, though how, he didn’t know. It would be a perfect opportunity to escape: while everyone was distracted and fussing over Dudley. He decided he would pack his bags tonight, and if not now tomorrow morning.<br/>
<br/>
Harry was about to turn over and go to sleep when a thought that had been niggling at the back of his mind popped up.</p><p><em>Where will I go, once I run away?<br/>
<br/>
</em>Harry honestly didn’t know--he had never been outside Surrey, except once to go to the beach. He supposed he would find out the next day: maybe he could live in the forest and survive by picking berries and occasionally scavenging for food.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, that would work. Harry yawned once, then turned over and went immediately to sleep. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Harry woke up bright and early, for once not by his aunt’s shrill voice yelling at him to get ready. He yawned and stretched, then winced as one of his bruised knees bumped into the cupboard floor.<br/>
<br/>
Harry was about to make breakfast for the Dursleys when he remembered his plan he had spent so much time making the other night. He had to pack his bag. Rustling under one of the loose floorboards--that was where he kept his special things--a stuffed bear he had stolen from Dudley that was missing a shiny black eye, a pressed flower he had made one day in class, and finally his red backpack that was missing a strap.<br/>
<br/>
Harry got out this backpack and swept everything he owned into it. There wasn’t much.<br/>
<br/>
The backpack was only a quarter full, so he took his clothes, and sorted them into a pile of what he would bring and what he wouldn’t.<br/>
<br/>
“Wake up and make breakfast!” The shout came from outside his cupboard, and Harry rolled his eyes. That must be Aunt Petunia—no one else had such a recognisable voice—almost like a siren. “Boy!” The emerald-eyed boy scrambled up, banging his head against the top of the cupboard and pushed the door open.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he said. “I’m coming!” Harry bit his lip, and resolved to finish packing later. He hopped through the hallway, jumping over the creaky floorboard, then stepped into the kitchen. And frowned.<br/>
<br/>
Something looked different. A thought was beginning to form at the back of his head, so Harry turned around —<br/>
<br/>
— and promptly got banged on the head by a stick. Harry groaned, and squinted at the ceiling. Yes, that was Dudley, who grinned, showing off the cavity in his front tooth.<br/>
<br/>
“Boy! Where’s breakfast?” Uncle Vernon yelled, and Harry shut his eyes and breathed deeply.<em> Just a few more hours of this, then I’ll be out,</em> he thought.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Later that day, once Harry had packed his bag, he sat in his cupboard and thought. Could he really go through with this? Really leave the only home--however much of a hell it really was--he had ever known? Out of the cooking pan and into the fire, his mind helpfully supplied. Harry knew that there were people out there who would want to hurt him: more than the Dursleys ever could.<br/>
<br/>
He had read enough books, listened to enough scoldings from Aunt Petunia to Dudley. They might not want him, though--Uncle Vernon had said he was a freak often enough.<br/>
<br/>
“Diddlykins!” Aunt Petunia called, from the kitchen. “We’re going out in a few minutes!”<br/>
<br/>
Dudley groaned and stomped down the stairs, so loud Harry felt his cupboard rattle a bit. “But Mum! I don’t wanna! My show’s on, I’ll miss the most important part of it!” he whined.<br/>
<br/>
Aunt Petunia stayed quiet for a few more seconds, and then finally relented. “All right, sweetie. We can wait a few more minutes if you really want to.” Dudley let out what he thought was a victorious laugh, but in reality was a squeal that made Harry clap his hands on his ears, then stomped back to his room, familiar sounds of the television turning on again.<br/>
<br/>
Harry closed his eyes, and tried to relax. He didn’t succeed, though, and was half grateful when Aunt Petunia called him. “Boy! Come here!” she shrieked, and Harry immediately pushed his cupboard open (banging his knee on the doorframe painfully) and ran to the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m here,” he said, desperately trying to flatten his mop of messy hair.<br/>
<br/>
“Come here and help me pack the picnic! And don’t you dare try to steal any of the food; it’s not for freaks,” she sneered.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said in monotone, and started quickly; he didn’t want to do something that would anger his aunt, didn’t want her to make him stay behind at the very last minute. <br/>
<br/>
“Dudley!” Aunt Petunia called, around an hour later. “Come downstairs! We’re leaving now!”<br/>
<br/>
“Coming, mum.” Dudley groaned, and stomped down the stairs, making sure to jump extra viciously on the place where he knew Harry’s cupboard was.<br/>
<br/>
Harry winced, and even more so when Aunt Petunia said, “Boy, come here!” Harry scrambled up, making sure to bring his bag with him, and took one last look around his cupboard - at the spiders’ webs dangling in the corners, at the broken, half-forgotten toys strewn around the floor, at the cot that had been his bed for the last seven years.</p><p>Harry took a deep breath and went outside, and he was proud to say he didn’t look back once.</p>
<hr/><p>Harry winced as he stepped out of the car. It was hot, almost unbearably so, and he’d just spend the last one and a half hours in a metal car, being kicked against the wall by Dudley. The Dursleys wouldn’t turn the air-con on, and although the windows were open it didn’t do much, as it was as hot outside as inside.<br/>
<br/>
<em>I’ll have to water Aunt Petunia’s plants again, before they all wilt</em>, he thought miserably, and then cheered up when he remembered he would never have to go back to the Dursleys, if everything went well today.</p><p>He looked over at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was complaining about motorcyclists again: “Ruddy good-for-nothings, the lot of 'em!”, Aunt Petunia was fussing over Dudley’s bags, and Dudley was… Where <em>was</em> Dudley?<br/>
<br/>
“What’re you staring at, freak?” said a voice from behind Harry, and he whipped around.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Oh. </em>That’s <em>where Dudley is.</em><br/>
<br/>
“Nothing pleasant,” Harry answered automatically and ducked - just in time, too, because Dudley’s expression turned into one of twisted rage and he swung his fist over Harry’s head. “Shut up!” he yelled, and Harry rolled his eyes. Dudley was always overdramatic.<br/>
<br/>
Uncle Vernon saw them fighting (read: Dudley trying to beat Harry up) and a vicious grin spread over his face as he finished his latest spiel about motorcyclists. “Get him, Dudders!” he yelled and Harry decided now would be a good time to go.<br/>
<br/>
He had originally planned for one last picnic with the Dursleys but no, enough was enough. He’d eaten before the car ride anyway. Harry looked at the Dursleys one last time - a memento of what might have been, maybe - before he scooped up his bag and ran into the forest.<br/>
<br/>
“BOY!” Uncle Vernon yelled. “BOY, come back NOW!” Harry ignored him and was tempted to stick out his tongue as he ran away. <em>No</em>, he decided ruefully, but it was an enticing thought. It was all this that ran through Harry’s mind before something unexpected happened: Vernon started to chase after him, yelling insults all the way.<br/>
<br/>
He wanted to swear, using some of the words he’d heard the older boys use at school. Harry didn’t think his uncle would be bothered to chase him, and wasn’t sure he could outrun his uncle - sure, he was fat, but he was also a grown adult and Harry a malnourished child. <em>I never thought I would be grateful for Harry-hunting,</em> he thought to himself, then urged his feet to go faster.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Faster</em>, Harry, <em>go faster</em>, the invisible voice in his head chided. <em>Don’t let Uncle Vernon catch up with you.</em> His lungs were burning after a few minutes of sprinting at his top speed, and he could hear every heartbeat too-well, a steady beat - <em>bum</em> badum, <em>bum</em> badum-- his feet pounding against the pavement like a drum-- Harry had never run this fast before, not even in Harry-hunting, his chest had never hurt this much before--<br/>
<br/>
Harry stopped running, and sat - scratch that, collapsed - on the ground. He couldn’t breathe through the pain in his chest. After a few minutes of wheezing and hoping to die, Harry recovered and for the first time in several minutes, looked around his surroundings.<br/>
<br/>
He was in a clearing, deep in the forest. The clearing, as far as he could tell, was a pretty nice one, all things considered; there were some leaves scattered around the ground, but those were easy enough to clean up. Tall oak trees towered over Harry, and the lush green ground looked like a deer’s back, the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves. The Dursleys’ shouts that they didn’t even want Harry anyway and they should have dumped him in an orphanage when they had the chance to had faded into the distance long ago. All he could hear now was the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves. Harry lay there for a bit, relaxing and enjoying the sounds of nature he’d never really had the chance to hear before. It was calm, peaceful, almost... He could just about fall asleep... <br/>
<br/>
Crash! Harry looked around nervously for the source of that noise. <em>Hunters</em>, his mind helpfully supplied, from a dictionary article he’d read ages ago, <em>some people hunt in this forest</em>. From far far away there was a whooping yell of triumph, and Harry felt sick to his stomach, scrambling up from where he’d collapsed on the ground to run, to hide--<br/>
<br/>
Any of those things would do. His legs wouldn’t move though, and Harry felt petrified -- what if the hunters find me, what if they take me back to the Dursleys, what if what if what if--</p><p>Harry couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, and the forest looked a lot more intimidating than it did before; the lack of light, while before had made him feel like he was in a fairytale, was now dark and scary; the tall oak trees were looming over him, and Harry could’ve sworn he saw a shadow move. He slid down the trunk of one of the trees onto the ground and hugged his knees.</p><p><em>So where should I go now?</em> </p>
<hr/><p>“I,” Harry said aloud to himself, “need to to find shelter.” He remembered a survival book he’d read a while ago; it said that you couldn’t live more than three hours without shelter in extreme conditions (he wasn’t sure if this was ‘extreme conditions,’ but it was better safe than sorry), three days without water (Harry had had the foresight to pack plenty of that), and three weeks without food (this one was easy: he’d become used to starving, living with the Dursleys, he’d packed lots of food, there were some towns around, and if worse came to worse there were some edible plants he could see).<br/>
<br/>
Harry was set on food and water; it was only shelter he was worried about. It would probably make sense to live near a town, as well -<br/>
<br/>
<em>I can steal food from there if I need to and no one will notice another extra eight-year-old boy.</em><br/>
<br/>
First things first, then; he needed to find a town. Harry had read the brochure Aunt Petunia gave Dudley on the way here, so he had a vague idea where everything was, but only a vague one. There was supposedly a village - around two thousand people - a couple miles away from here.</p><p>
  <em>That’s where I’ll go, then. Just not now.</em>
</p><p>It was getting late: the sun had started to set, a watery blob on the horizon, painting streaks of dark grey across the evening sky. Harry still needed shelter for tonight, though - he wouldn’t have time to walk all the way to the town before dark. He didn’t want to be out at night time, either: All the stories and newspapers he’d read always talked about that, and how it was ‘not advisable’ for children to be out once the moon comes up.</p><p>So. Shelter. A tree would work in a pinch, Harry decided, and turned his attention once more to the large oaks that surrounded him, searching for the largest and the broadest, the one that would support his weight.</p><p>
  <em>Ah-hah! Found one.</em>
</p><p>And he had. The tree he had chosen looked to be the tallest of the patch of forest he was in; it was also thick and had lots of handy branches, making it easy to climb up. Harry tested the trunk of the tree with his foot, first, to make sure it was solid and he wouldn’t come crashing down in the night. It was solid - at least it seemed so.</p><p>Harry was a pretty good climber, and had slept in a tree before (the time that Ripper chased him up one and didn’t let him down for a day), so it was actually quite comfortable. More so than the cupboard, anyway.</p><p>That night he fell asleep to the sounds of owls and trees rustling.</p>
<hr/><p>Harry woke up the next morning, something digging uncomfortably into his back. Which was quite strange, honestly, considering he'd tried to make his cupboard as pleasant as possible. Well, as pleasant as it could be, considering it was a cupboard and Harry a growing boy. </p><p><em> Aunt Petunia isn't here either</em>, Harry thought, yawning as he sat up. <em> And it smells like... leaves, for some reason. Why would my cupboard smell like leaves, of all things? </em></p><p>The answer, of course, was that he was not in his cupboard. The memories of yesterday, of his <em> plan </em> came rushing in, and Harry smiled as he remembered he would never have to see the Dursleys again, never have to cook breakfast or stare longingly at Dudley for his presents, never have to envy them and hate them and at the same time wish for acceptance from his so-called <em> family </em>.</p><p>
  <em> I don't need them.  </em>
</p><p>And he didn't! Harry was doing perfectly fine on his own, even if it had only been less than a day. He certainly didn't <em> miss </em>the Dursleys, and the animals—Harry had seen a chipmunk, two robins, and a rabbit during the night—were nice company, a change from humans who didn't do anything but shout (Uncle Vernon), or beat him up (Dudley). </p><p>Sometimes Harry thought it would be quite nice to be an animal, to not have to worry about anything but his next meal, and predators. He would maybe be a bird, if he could choose; something that could easily escape, and fly away when he wanted to escape humans. </p><p>
  <em> Now that I think of it, that sounds really nice, actually. And quite close to what I'm doing now, just I'm a human, and I can't fly. I'm still escaping other humans, though. Like the Dursleys, and all the people who blindly believe them that I'm bad, or evil or— whatever.  </em>
</p><p>Harry stopped thinking about that. It made him upset, sometimes, how everyone readily believed that <em> he </em>was bad, and Dudley the good and sweet child. He’d told a teacher once, that he’d had to sleep in a cupboard. The teacher was duly horrified, and had a talk with the Dursleys, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had convinced her, in no less than five minutes, that Harry was just a thief who liked to make up stories, and “we keep on telling the boy, but he just won’t listen!” </p><p>The teacher left that day, sympathetically talking to the Dursleys about naughty children, and Harry was kept in the cupboard for a week. That was part of the reason he’d finally decided to run away—anything was better than being locked up in a damp and cold cupboard. </p><p>Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by a hissing noise, way down by his feet. He looked down, and jumped. Right by his feet, there was an about twenty inches long adder snake. </p><p>“<em> Prey....eat the prey….hungry....” </em>it hissed, and Harry frowned.</p><p><em> “Why can I underssstand you?” </em> Harry hissed-asked. He’d never talked to a snake before in his life, and before this had never even thought about it. <em> I think this is one of the reasons that the Dursleys call me a freak, sometimes. But - you know what? - I’d rather talk to snakes than them</em>. </p><p><em> “You are a ssspeaker...you are special…” </em> it hissed again, and slid up Harry’s arm. It could just about fit there, nestled in snugly behind his worn clothes. “<em>I will not eat you....” </em></p><p>Harry shivered as the cold, smooth scales of the adder touched his skin. “<em>Thank you for not eating me</em>,” he hissed-said. “<em>You will ssstay with me?” </em></p><p><em> “I will ssstay....” </em> it—he? she?—hissed. <em> “I will ssstay with the ssspeaker....” </em></p><p>Harry blinked, surprised. He hadn’t really expected the snake—he had to pick out a better name soon—to accept his invitation. </p><p>
  <em> The more I think about it, actually, it’ll be nice to have company.  </em>
</p><p><em> “What isss your name?” </em>Harry asked the snake, stroking its tail so it did something that was not quite a sigh, but close. </p><p>“<em>Name? I do not have a name…. Namesss are for sssilly humans…” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Hey! I’m a human.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “All sssilly humans except for you, then…” </em>
</p><p>Harry smiled, and petted the snake—he’d decided to name it Asmodesus, for a book the teacher had read one day at school—as it snuggled its head into the crook of his arm. He’d never thought snakes were so cuddly, before. </p><p>But he couldn’t spend all day petting his new snake, however much he wanted to. Harry had things to do, today, goals to accomplish; he needed to get to that town.</p><p>And so they went, Harry and his snake Asmodesus, off into the horizon to face a new future. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>END. </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK, that's all I've got. Thanks for reading this far, and hope you enjoyed! (leave a comment or a kudos if you feel like it)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>